You Found Me
by MandNwriterzz
Summary: "Clint didn't know this was how he was going to die." "You're not really here, are you?" "A chaste but deep kiss, like two people truly in love." Clint's dying, and in a sudden turn of events, a ghost of the past, the late love of his life, has come to receive him. Will he come? AU. A Clintasha drabble.


**Hey again, loyal readers. Not here to mince words, so I'm going to present a Clintasha textbook drabble. This is kind of AU, okay? I have already wrote a one shot for this awesome couple so check out my profile and look at my other stories when you're done with this. (A/N: If you want a musical mood to this, listen to A Drop In The Ocean by Ron Pope. I just think it suits it.)**

**Pairing: Clintasha**

**Rating: K for mild violence and themes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel.**

**Please forgive me for any grammatical errors or mistakes or OOCness. Please read, review or follow and favorite. Thanks and enjoy!**

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He was on fire.

Clint didn't think this was how his life was going to end. To be curled up in a corner of the helicopter hangar with four other bodies scattered around him while a switchblade was dug deep into his lower abdomen. When the blade had been injected into him, he had crumpled to the ground, his back sliding down the wall. The pain was sending searing waves of burning sensations through him. Liquid flame flowed through every one of his veins of his body, causing his blood to boil, leaving no corner untouched, enveloping every inch of his skin, gnawing through the marrow of tough bone. It felt like he was buried right in the middle of a crackling bonfire. There wasn't a single cell in his body that wasn't blazing with the worst agony imaginable.

He had suspected the switchblade had been dipped in poison and that was what was causing the unbearable pain. All he could do was stay still and try not to move, his elbow meeting his kneecap and his face dug into his palm, wiping away the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, his sandy blond spikes plastered to his forehead in damp strands, his rainwater gray eyes sunk deep into his skulls, making dark shadows form under his eyes. He was deteriorating by the second.

But whenever he peeked through his fingers, he saw the pool of dark crimson blood staining the floor beneath him and seeping into his dark clothing, making it stick to his already feverish skin. It was such a strange color, a dark, dark color that almost looked black with the dim lighting, but under these harsh fluorescent lights, it made him sick to his stomach.

No one was going to find him, not before he died of poisoning or blood loss or whichever killed him first. Not even Stark would make it with his Iron Man suit's hyper speed. He was going to die. It was inevitable.

_"Clint . . ."_

_That voice . . . It couldn't be . . . _But it was. He shifted his head to the side and couldn't believe what his eyes were showing him. Black spots were lining the edges of his vision but he could see her so clearly.

_Natasha._

But that was impossible. She was dead. The memories were still burned in the back of his mind, as clear as day. Natasha had feel into a deep coma during a mission and lay in a hospital bed for months, her lank hair fanned across the pillow and her skin a sickly pale shade tinged with green. He had sat next to her for hours, just staring at her lovely face, waiting for those sparkling emerald orbs to open up and meet his blue ones. He'd talk to her, about missions, daily life, their good times as partners, almost like he knew she was going to die. His fingers were always laced through hers, squeezing them and hoping she could feel his touch, hear his voice.

Then there was the day where the heart monitor suddenly let a loud, high pitched screech and showed the dismal sign. A flat line just running across the screen, showing there was no pulse evident in the patient. The doctors had swarmed the room, jerking Clint away from Natasha's body, and he remembered crying out her name, saying that he loved her, so, so much, the glimmers of coming tears present in his eyes.

Her funeral was silent and full of grave meaning. He had spent ages staring at her head stone, thinking about what he could have done. He woke up a few years after that and it had become a part of him, something he needed to carry with him for the rest of his life. She was dead, and that was that.

But here she was, standing just a few feet from him. Her long curly locks of fiery red hair tumbled down her shoulders and back to reach her hips. Her complexion was healthy looking, a shining marble white complete with patches of healthy salmon pink on her cheeks. Her pale jade green eyes were fixed on him and only him and a small smile was gracing her rosebud Cupid bow shaped mouth.

"Tasha?" Clint managed to croak out and he noticed that his voice was going too hoarse, like it was trying to come out through a windpipe full of rough and coarse sand. He was definitely running out of time. It would explain the hallucinations as well. He knew she couldn't ever be alive; he had saw her die. It was probably because he was becoming delirious from the blood loss or if something else, a drug of some sort, was addling his thoughts up into a huge mess or maybe she was actually here.

Natasha Romanoff just batted her long eyelashes again, and her smile grew wider. She walked over to him, her long legs easily striding over the distance and she knelt down next to him. Her body didn't even seem to be affected by the lights, like she was frozen in time. She still looked so young after all these years. A few loose strands of hair framed her oval shaped face in scarlet. Her hand rose up from her side to press against his cheek and his eyes widened to the size of saucers. It felt cool to the touch, a refreshing and relaxing coolness, and it felt so real.

"You're here," he said in amazement.

"Hello, Clint," she greeted with a smile that peeled back her lips to reveal her sparkling white teeth. She stroked her thumb along his high cheekbone, the smooth skin causing friction between the rough stubble. He couldn't help a small, rueful grin.

"You're not really here, are you?" he whispered, his hand reaching out to cup the back her hand on his face. It was a complete shock to him how real and tangible it felt.

"Yes, I am. I'll always be. In here," Natasha said in reply and pressed her free hand to his chest, where his heart was barely beating a fluttering pulse. He felt even more weak and tired than before.

"Am I done then? Have you turned into an angel that's supposed to bring me to Hell?" the man asked, knowing that if her ghost was here, then that could only mean one thing. His suspicions were confirmed when her teeth fell onto her bottom lip and she nodded her head somberly, her eyes shining.

"You would never go to Hell," she exclaimed in a fierce and stubborn voice. "You're good man. Remember that. That's why I love you. But I'm so proud of you, Clint," she murmured, her voice swelling with pride and love and Clint felt the corners of his mouth quirk up in a tiny yet genuine smile.

"Were you there the whole time?"

The redheaded woman swallowed and nodded her head, her green orbs bright with almost tears, the pain and emotion she would never reveal. "I've been watching over you, waiting anxiously for the day when I'd find you and we could be together again."

"Well," he said simply. "You found me."

Natasha's mouth broke out into a full out grin and she outstretched her arm, her fingers spread apart and offering a safe and warm place for him to go with her. He almost took it, but choked down a sob first. He remembered his team mates, Tony's impish grin and cocky attitude, Steve's strong will and amazing leadership, and still and steady dark blue eyes, Banner's annoyingly smart yet endearing manner, even Thor's great powerful aura and steel hammer. "What about the others?"

"They will care for each other and deal. They did with me, and they will with many others, including you."

The black spots were sparkling across his vision, draping his eyesight into darkness and he closed his eyelids over his eyes once last time. He felt an insistent thread tugging at his soul again, but he now knew it wasn't a sinister force dragging him down to the fearsome and fiery pit of Hell; it was only his fingers intertwining with Natasha's and her pulling him upwards to his feet.

The blazing agony that had been screaming though his nerve system and the faint beating of his heart echoing in his ears suddenly evaporated into nothingness and he looked down at his body and was astonished to see his regular clothes, not stained with blood or the blade's handle sticking grotesquely out of his abdomen. He looked over his shoulder and saw himself slumped in the corner, his dull, icy gray blue eyes empty and vacant, the bright glimmer of life absent from them, the pool of blood surrounding him like a moat. He contemplated his body for one more second before turning back to Natasha.

"I'll miss it," he said in a straightforward tone.

"We all do."

"I love you, Tasha," he hummed into her scarlet hair.

"I love you too," replied Natasha and they drew each other gladly in each other's warm embrace, their soft lips brushing against one another in a chaste but deep kiss, like two people truly in love. Clint then moved even more forward and crushed their lips together. She stiffened, not expecting that, but sank in his arms, melted into the kiss, her eyelashes scraping against his cheekbones as she closed her smooth eyelids over her emerald eyes.

"Welcome home," she murmured against his lips, and the bright, blinding white light overcame then in a huge wave, jettisoning them through the everlasting tunnel to something greater than life on Earth.

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_**Good? Bad? Average? Please take a moment to leave your opinion in a review or at least add this to your favorites if you liked it at all. Pretty please with a cherry on top? Thank you so much. -N**_


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